No Good Deed
by T-man626
Summary: Just because Earth-That-Was is gone, doesn't mean that there aren't still things that might ruin humanity's day. Post-BDM, with all that that implies.
1. Chapter 1

No Good Deed

"You know," he says as they stand in line, "you really don't have to do this."

"Mal." She gives him an all too familiar look, the look that says _Quit being so dense._ "We already talked about this. If I'm part of the crew, then I need to do the work."

He can't reply because they have reached the head of the line and the admissions clerk is asking for their tickets. He hands them over, using his peripheral vision to study the guard that stands off to the side. According to the client's notes, there will be a guard at every doorway, and several circulating around the exhibit hall itself. The clerk studies their tickets, holds them up to a special lamp, nods, rips the two little papers in half, and hands the stubs back to Mal. "Enjoy the exhibit," he tells them.

"We will," Mal assures him, placing a hand on his companion's arm and guiding her past the little stand. Past the guard, through the doorway, and as they enter the room proper Mal stops and stares. The client had told him what to expect, but there is always a difference between imagining and seeing. This time, seeing is better than imagining.

According to the write-up, it's been over a year since the archaeologists discovered this collection of items. Mal, like any layman, knows that scientists are a finicky bunch. He suspects that they could have opened this exhibit within a month of the find and still had people beating down the door. But now, standing here, he's glad that someone took the time to do this right: The largest ever exhibit of Earth-That-Was artifacts.

It's a decent size hall; he estimates that both shuttles would fit comfortably in here, side by side, and still have room to walk around both of them. The high ceiling draws some of the heat away from the mass of humanity that covers the floor, circulating, admiring. Mal stands at the top of a short flight of stairs, probably built for this very view. The lighting is at a perfect level, with spotlights picking out the individual pieces. Down there, somewhere, is the reason that he is here tonight. But it can wait for a moment…

A gentle nudge in the ribs brings Mal back to himself. Sheepishly, he grins at her, and together they descend into the crowd. For the first time, Mal is glad that Inara is helping him to case the place.

Scratch that. Mal never regrets spending time with Inara, especially since the events of Miranda. He still regrets that he managed to drive her off the first time, and is a little sorry that he destroyed her place at the Training House. He's not sorry that he rode straight into a trap to rescue her (really, can it be a trap since he knew it was coming?), and he's very glad that she (and the others) had his back on Mr. Universe's moon. Having her back on the boat helps to fill some of the gaping void left by Wash's death.

Though he'd never admit it out loud, tonight he's glad that she is part of his crew. Anyone who looks in their direction ends up gazing at her and barely noticing him, moving aside to allow the lady to pass. This gets the pair as close as possible to the exhibits, allowing Mal the opportunity to study both objects and security measures with equal scrutiny. Though he normally doesn't have time for history, Mal is fascinated by the sheer array of stuff that the archaeologists uncovered. He and Inara have already admired a table and chair, an old-fashioned lamp, and a twenty-first century computer. Amazing, really, what his ancestors managed to pack on those spaceships… "Bingo," he mutters, spotting the next exhibit. Hearing his tone, Inara follows his gaze, nodding acknowledgment. She steps slightly ahead of him, and the crowd parts once more for her. Within seconds, they stand in front of a display of small items.

"Magnets reported to belong to the German physician Franz Mesmer," Inara reads aloud. "Used in hypnotherapy of patients." She turns to look at Mal, slightly incredulous. "That's them?"

"That's them," he agrees, understanding her confusion. What the client wants with three magnets, each of which can't be much longer than his middle finger, is beyond him. Then again, they are Earth-That-Was artifacts, and the guy is a collector of rare antiquities, so maybe it's not that difficult to figure out. "See anything?" he asks, keeping his voice low and turning his attention to the display case itself. The glass doesn't look too thick, but he suspects that there may be lasers inside the display… Yes, there are the projection lenses.

"Nothing obvious," she replies. "Mal are you sure-"

"Come on," he cuts her off, wrapping her hand in his, tugging slightly. "Let's go check out the other pieces." He turns away from the pedestal, walking only a step before someone collides with him. Grunting in surprise, he reaches out his free hand to grab and steady the other person. "Sorry," he apologizes.

"Entirely my fault," she replies. "I really should watch where I'm going." Her accent catches Mal's attention because it sounds almost like Badger's, except it's more refined. Then he gets a good look at her.

The woman who ran into him is of average height, like Inara. Like Inara, there is nothing average about her looks. High cheekbones dominate her face, balanced by full lips drawn in a half smile. Mal's eyes continue down her figure, noting the casual yet dressy shirt and vest, the tan pants tucked into dark knee-high boots. He pulls his eyes back up to meet hers and is a little startled to recognize the cool, calculating look there; it's the same look he sees in the mirror every morning.

"No, he's an oaf," Inara's voice breaks in to his musings. "Our apologies." She wraps her free hand around Mal's bicep and pulls him to the side, away from the woman. He follows her lead, shaking his head to clear it. Those eyes…. "Mal."

"What?" He turns to meet Inara's gaze.

"I asked if you are okay." Amusement tugs at the corner of her mouth. "She didn't hurt you, did she?"

"Woman, are you mocking me?"

Now she's smirking at him. "Considering your track record, I think that it's a perfectly valid question." Before he can say anything else, she turns away, tugging on his hand and leading him back through the crowd to where two familiar figures are standing by a display of kitchenware.

"Sir," Zoe greets him. "Did you find it?"

"Yup. How are things outside?"

"All taken care of," Jayne replies, looking ill at ease in such a large crowd. Not too surprising, Mal thinks, considering they all had to leave their weapons on the ship. "Now what?" the large mercenary asks.

"You two head back to the ship and make sure everything's ready for tonight. We'll stay for a bit, make sure that we didn't miss anything."

"I thought we had seen everything we needed," Inara comments as the other pair heads for the exit.

Mal shakes his head. "Clearly, I still got a lot to teach you about tactics. We only saw 'bout half the trinkets."

She's smiling at him again, a genuine smile this time. "Why Captain Reynolds, you _do_ know how to show a lady a good time."

He can't help smiling back at her. "C'mon," he says, tugging her hand. Together, they continue to the next display.

* * *

Mal has never liked nighttime raids. The dark, the armed security systems, everything combines to really drive home the fact that he's actually thieving. Okay, it's not like he hasn't stolen before, and his crew are looking to him to put food on the table and get paid, but it doesn't change the fact that nighttime jobs give him the creeps.

Maybe it's the fact that there's no crowd to disappear in to after things go wrong. Take tonight, for example: The street outside the museum is devoid of anyone except the occasional pedestrian, usually a local lawman. Mal, Zoe, and Jayne have been careful to keep to the shadows around the building as they make their way to the window Zoe gimmicked earlier in the day. With a final warning for Jayne, who has sentry duty, Mal and Zoe duck inside.

Another reason Mal hates the night is that it's so _quiet._ Quiet in the black is nice. Quiet during a job? Not so much. During daylight hours, all kinds of noises can disguise a dropped item or swearwords when you run into something in an unfamiliar place. But tonight? The duo's breathing sounds abnormally loud in the silent museum. As they duck behind a large sculpture to avoid a guard, Mal has to keep reminding himself that his heartbeat is no louder than usual, that the guard can't hear it at all.

Finally, the patrol moves on, and Mal leads the way around the corner to the Earth-That-Was display. The entranceway to the special exhibit hall has an added layer of security in the form of two cameras, but these don't worry Mal. As the client told them, and Mal's team confirmed that very day, the cameras are fixed; while their fields of view overlap, there is a slight gap in the coverage. Taking a deep breath, Mal flattens himself to the wall and creeps slowly, oh so slowly, to the doorway. Finally, he slides around the corner and pauses in the shadows to catch his breath and survey the room.

In contrast to earlier, the room sits now in near-perfect darkness. Here and there, spotlights have been left on, picking out several of the larger pieces and providing enough light to navigate by. Thankfully, the light over the magnets is not one of these. Keeping to the shadows, Mal heads down the stairs. He can barely make out the sound of Zoe's boots on the floor behind him. According to plan, she finds a spot in the shadows of a display near the bottom of the stairs and crouches down, keeping an eye on the doorway. Meanwhile, Mal heads for the display case where the magnets are kept.

He's almost made it when an electric crackling sound shatters the silence. Reflexively, Mal drops behind the nearest display case, gun drawn. Senses razor-sharp, he scans the room, searching for the source of the noise. "Zoe?" he whisper-shouts. "Zoe!"

No answer. Mal scans the room again, and spots a familiar arm lying on the ground. Before he can move to investigate, something cold touches him right behind the ear. "_Liu kou shui de biao-tze hue hoe-tze de ben ur-tze."_

"Such language," a soft voice admonishes him. "Your weapon, please." Mal raises his hand and loosens his grip, allowing his gun to be removed. "Good boy. Now then—urgh!"

With speed born of training and desperation, Mal grabs the hand holding the gun on him and rises, using strength and surprise to swing his attacker around in front of him. Something, it feels like a foot, hooks him behind the knee, bringing him back down. His knees hit the floor with a painful crack, but he manages to hang on to the arm, and even catches a second hand as it flies towards his face. Exerting all of his strength, he forces his attacker's arms down until he can see the face to which they belong. His eyes widen in surprise. "You!"

The striking woman from earlier in the day does not appear as surprised as him. "Well, you're not much of an oaf after all, are you?" The half-smile is gone, and even in the dim light Mal can still see the calculating look in her eyes. "Why are you after the magnets?"

_"Shuh muh?"_

The look she gives him reminds him of Zoe. "Come now my good man, I did see you scoping out the security arrangements earlier today."

There is really nothing to say to this, but Mal's mouth has always run ahead of his brain. "You ran into me on purpose!" he blurts out, barely remembering to keep his voice down so as not to alert any passing security guards to their presence. A faint smile traces her lips, but before she can reply an unmistakable sound reaches Mal's ears: the scuff of shoe on marble. Someone else is in the exhibit hall.

She hears it, too. Her eyes flick back towards the entrance, and Mal seizes his chance. Once more, he tries to throw off her grasp. Once more, he is unsuccessful. In a move too quick to follow, she frees her hand and aims a right funny-lookin' gun at him. Green lightning shoots from the barrel, accompanied by a crackling sound Mal recognizes. _'Least I know what happened to Zoe._ His muscles spasm, dropping him prone on the floor. He struggles to stay awake, wanting to know who got the drop on them, and though it takes a powerful effort, he's mostly successful. His brain is clearly addled by the lightning, however. How else could he explain the fact that the two men walking past him right now look identical to those gorram blue hands what trailed River for a time? Mal never saw them personally, but he remembers their handiwork all too well. Or does he? His brain is feelin' a mite fuzzy…

Faster'n'a bolt of lightning, the woman pops up from behind another display a few feet away (and when did she get over there?) and fires another blast of green light, this time at the two interlopers. They respond so quick and smooth that Mal instantly knows they've had training: At the first sound from the gun, both men drop low to avoid the emerald bolt and pull their own peculiar weapons. One signs something to the other. Mal can't see what, exactly, since they're off to his side and he can't really move right now, but the one puts his gun away and begins moving away all stealthy-like, keeping low and staying behind the display cases whenever possible. The second guy, meanwhile, fires a shot of his own towards the woman, the bolt of blue lightning hitting the floor right beside the pedestal she's crouching behind. She shoots back, and the room is briefly lit with a tiny fireworks display of blue and green light. Mal wonders briefly why no guards have come running when he notices the second Blue Hand crouched by the magnets' display case. Somehow, the man got the case open and is hastily shoving the little metal bars into a silver pouch of some kind, adding purply-gold sparks to the light show.

Mal blinks to clear his eyes, but when he opens them again Blue Hand Two has drawn his own weapon and is aiming it at the woman. Before Mal can call out a warning, Two fires. The lightning catches the woman full in the back, knocking her down and out. Looking satisfied, Two walks right in front of Mal's face, not even looking at the captain. Turning his head doesn't take as much effort now, and Mal is able to follow Two as he meets up with One and the pair exits the room. Total elapsed time since the woman shot Mal: probably two minutes. Maybe. That is, assuming the lightning didn't addle Mal's brain too much…

Shaking his head to clear it doesn't hurt too badly, so Mal decides the effects of the Lightning Gun are wearing off. His arms obey his brain's command to move, and he's able to push himself up onto hands and knees, although he can't quite suppress a groan of discomfort. An answering groan brings his head snapping up faster than is probably advisable. "Zoe?"

"Here, sir," she replies. Scuffling and scraping sounds ensue, and just as Mal is contemplating standing his partner walks over. She's a little wobbly, but doesn't look any worse for the wear. "What happened?" she asks, extending her hand.

He takes it, and she gently pulls him upright. The room sways for a moment, and he shuts his eyes tight, willing it to stop. It does. "Don't rightly know," he answers Zoe's question, opening his eyes once more, "'sides the fact that our ambusher was ambushed." Looking around, he locates said ambusher and heads towards her. Kneeling sets the room spinning again, but he grits his teeth and keeps going, reaching out to touch the woman's neck. "Got a pulse." He doesn't know why he's surprised; the woman's Lightning Gun didn't kill him or Zoe, so why would the guns of the Blue Hands kill her? Then again, who's to say the Blue Hands won't be back to finish the job?

"We best be going, sir," Zoe reminds him.

She's right; the last thing they need is for someone to find them now. That'd be the icing on the protein cake of this _hun-dan_ job. 'Course, it'd be nice to understand _why_ the job went to Hell in a hand basket… "Gimme a hand," Mal tells Zoe.

"Sir?"

"I want answers," Mal explains, rolling the woman over and attempting to pull her up. Thankfully, Zoe moves to help him. "And I think she has 'em." Between the two of them, they get Mal standing upright once more, the woman slung over his shoulder. As quickly as possible, Mal makes for the exit. Zoe only stops long enough to collect their weapons before following. _Now,_ Mal thinks, _if we can just avoid any police-type folks and get back to my ship, maybe I can get those answers._

* * *

"Gorram it, Mal!" Jayne shouts for the umpteenth time.

Mal's head is starting to hurt, mostly due to Jayne's shouting, but before he can reply in kind Simon speaks up.

"If you can't keep your voice down, I'll have to ask you to leave my infirmary." Jayne glares at the back of the doc's head, but subsides. Simon carries right on with his doctoring of Mal, apparently oblivious to Jayne's death gaze. Someday, Mal promises himself, he'll get the story behind the doc's control of the big mercenary.

"'S not like Cap'n had a choice, Jayne," Kaylee pipes up. She's standing on the opposite side of the infirmary, helping Zoe wrap her ankle. Mal winces; if Zoe hadn't been suffering from the effects of electric shock and trying to keep an eye on him and his "passenger", she would have easily noticed and avoided that divot in the park. But she hadn't, and so when Kaylee greeted them on their return both Mal and Jayne each carried a woman in their arms. Thankfully, Doc declared Zoe's ankle was only sprained. "He was shot, after all," the mechanic continues.

"More like shocked," Simon clarifies, finally stepping back. "You're lucky."

"How so?" Mal asks, incredulous.

"Take a look," Inara tells him. She's standing next to him, holding out the Lightning Gun. "See here?" She points to a dial on the grip that Mal hadn't noticed before. "Kaylee says that controls how powerful the discharge is."

"You mean it can be stronger?" Mal doesn't like the sound of that.

"That's right Cap'n," Kaylee answers. "I guess it could kill a person, if she wanted it to."

Hearing those words, Jayne makes a grab for the pistol, but Inara levels her own death glare at him, and he pulls back. "Just wanted to try it out," he mutters.

"There'll be no trying out on my boat," Mal informs him.

"Don't see why we had to grab her anyway," Jayne sulks, gazing at the figure lying on the one infirmary bed. "She's the reason we didn't get the goods, so she's the reason we won't be gettin' paid."

"Which is precisely why I grabbed her," Mal informed him. "She can give us answers." _I hope._ "Doc," he continued, dropping down from his seat on the counter and moving toward the woman, "you got something that can wake her up?"

"Not necessary." River's voice emanates from behind Jayne, making the big man jump and start swearing.

"Lil' Albatross," Mal greets his pilot. "Are we-?"

"No sign of pursuit," she interrupts, stepping around Jayne and into the infirmary. "We have left the planet's gravity well and are accelerating away at a steady rate. I engaged the autopilot," she states, answering Mal's unvoiced concern. She looks back at their passenger. "She's already awake."

Mal looks down, and sure enough, the woman's eyes are open. She gives him a brief nod. Mal sighs. "Judging from your lack of questions, I'm guessing you've heard most of what's been said, so you know how my crew and I feel about you. I'd surely appreciate it if you cooperate, because otherwise I'll be forced to let Jayne here," Mal motioned to the mercenary, who grinned, "test out that fancy gun of yours, using you as a target."

"That won't be necessary," she states. She is remarkably calm for someone facing a grinning Jayne. "How may I be of service?"

Questions buzz through Mal's mind, crying out to be answered by the woman. Actually, come to think of it, he can't keep calling her 'the woman'. "What's your name?"

"Helena."

Mal can tell she's hiding something. He could leave it go, but if she holds back here, what will she hold back later? "Helena what?"

She lets out a quiet sigh. "Helena G. Wells."

The way she says the name, it sounds like there's something important about it, but nothing is ringing any bells in Mal's mind. He looks up, his gaze landing on Zoe, who looks equally confused.

"Oh my God," Simon breathes. Mal turns to the doc, who looks like he's seen a ghost. "H. G. Wells."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Dun dun dunnnn! Another year, another crossover from the strange place that is my mind. I hope that you like it so far!


	2. Chapter 2

Silence follows the young man's statement, giving Helena a moment to study her surroundings. From the conversation she overheard, she knows that she's in a ship's infirmary; comparing the size and layout with what she knows of current ship designs leads to the conclusion that she is on board an older vessel, likely a _Firefly- _or _Whirlybird_-class transport. She occupies the sole bed. To her left are the captain, Mal, and the woman who stood by his side earlier that day. Based on her bearing, Helena tentatively pegs the woman as a Companion. Directly in front of Helena stands the young man who has put the pieces together; running quickly through her memories of the conversation, Helena believes that he is the one Mal referred to as "Doc". Behind him stand two humans who could not be more opposite. One, the tall, muscular male whom Mal referred to as "Jayne", studies Helena warily, his hand resting blatantly on the gun holstered on his thigh. The other, a small, slight female, meets Helena's gaze evenly, studying Helena even as Helena studies her, and Helena senses that this child also knows the truth of Helena's past. Helena deliberately looks away to the right, making note of the last two people in the compartment. The dark-skinned woman Helena stunned earlier is sitting on the counter, looking at Helena with intense dislike. Next to her stands a younger woman, blonde, wearing a coverall and enough engine grease to lubricate a small ground vehicle. Clearly, she is the ship's mechanic.

"Who?" Mal asks, pulling Helena's attention back to him. He is looking at the doctor.

"H. G. Wells," the medic repeats, clearly in awe, "the father of science fiction."

"Science fiction?" the mechanic asks.

_"Father?"_ Mal looks at Helena, studying her. A slight smile on his face, he turns back to the doctor. "Doc, I don't normally tell you how to do your job," the young man finally stops staring at Helena and looks incredulously at the captain, "but I do believe the word 'father' implies someone of the male sex."

Behind Mal, the Companion rolls her eyes, but Helena can see the hint of a smile gracing her lips.

The doctor shrugs helplessly. "I don't understand either, Captain."

"Simon?" the mechanic asks. When the doctor faces her, Helena adds the name to what she's already learned. "What's science fiction?"

Before he can open his mouth, the girl behind him replies. "It was a type of story on Earth-That-Was, usually characterized by spaceships, alien life-forms, and technology ahead of the state of the art." She final stops looking at Helena and looks at the mechanic instead. "We live a very science fictional life."

"Lotta talkin'," Jayne breaks in, "but I don't hear no explainin' how this woman is a father."

Wincing at the man's deplorable grammar, Helena prepares to explain, but the doctor beats her to it. "Herbert George Wells was one of the first people to write science fiction stories, and they were so popular that they influenced many of the authors who came later. Even today, you can download them from the Cortex."

Now the big man looks confused. "Thought she said her name was 'Helena'."

"It is," Helena informs him. "Herbert Wells never existed."

"But what about the pictures?" Simon asks.

"My brother, Charles, provided the mustache. I created and wrote the tales."

"Why'd your brother-"

"As fascinatin' as this all is," Mal cuts in, clearly annoyed, "I'm more interested in why you was interfer-"

"Mal," the Companion cuts him off, "H. G. Wells, Helena, wrote those stories over six hundred years ago."

The news brings Mal's rant to a halt before it even gets going. "_Shuh muh?"_

_Why can't things ever go smoothly?_ Helena thinks as the crew begins all talking at once. Unfortunately, now that they've put the pieces together, there's no way that she can feed them a pack of lies. If nothing else, she'll have to explain why she was after the magnets. Thankfully, they don't seem to be aware of what the magnets actually are, so a partial truth should serve. It is obvious that Mal and his crew wish to avoid any entanglements with law enforcement, something Helena can use to her advantage. As to whom she is… Helena's train of thought slows as she notices something: The rest of the crew may be talking over one another, but the young girl standing between Simon and Jayne remains silent, staring at Helena. In fact, Helena has the disconcerting feeling that the girl knows exactly what she's been thinking. _So much for the easy way out._

"—why she's interferin' with our work?"

"—almost seven hundred years old!"

"—we gettin' PAID?"

Tired of being talked about as though she isn't there, Helena attempts to sit up. She is only mildly surprised when a restraint of some kind tugs at her wrist. The motion is enough to bring the disparate conversations to a halt and return the group's attention to Helena. "As flattering as all of this is, I don't think it is helping any of us get what we want," she comments.

"What I want," Mal informs her, "are answers. You willing to give those?"

"Could we go somewhere more comfortable?" If she can learn more about the ship, she may have a chance at escaping.

He thinks it over for several moments, holding silent conversations with his crew. Finally, he speaks again. "Long as you're on your best behavior, sure."

"I give you my word."

"Okay then." Motioning to the others to head out, Mal steps closer to Helena and undoes the restraint. As she gets up, he lays a warning hand on her arm. "You best keep that promise. My crew and I are right particular about promises." With that, he motions for her to follow the others. As she passes Jayne where he stands in the doorway, he falls in behind her, next to Mal.

"Since when are we particular about promises?" the big man asks.

"Shut up, Jayne." Mal replies.

* * *

"Where shall I begin?" Helena asks.

Her earlier deduction has been confirmed: The ship is indeed a _Firefly_. The crew and she are now in the galley/recreation area. Most of the crew is seated at the dining table, although the dark-skinned woman, whom Helena has learned is named Zoe, is seated on the low sofa with her left leg elevated. Apparently, she twisted her ankle while returning to the ship. Helena suspects that Zoe blames her for this.

The mechanic, Kaylee, opens her mouth, but it is Mal who speaks first. "Why were you after the magnets?" He stands at the head of the table, arms folded, expression guarded.

Simple and straightforward as the question seems, Helena still must take a moment to frame her answer. Time has not changed the fact that the Warehouse is kept secret. "The man that I work for wished-"

"Hang on," Mal interrupts. "This man wouldn't be named Jefferson Greco, would he?"

"No," Helena replies. Mal motions for her to continue. "As I was saying, the man that I work for wished the magnets to be kept away from the public eye. I was to remove them from the exhibit and bring them to him."

"Why?" the Companion asks.

"He is, shall we say, a collector of certain items."

"Things from Earth-That-Was?" Simon asks.

"Among other things," Helena allows.

"What kinds of 'other things'?" Mal inquires.

Helena needs to steer this conversation away from this topic, but is unsure of how to do so. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"I dunno," Kaylee says. "After Miranda I c'n believe a hell of a lot I used not to."

The name stops Helena in her metaphorical tracks. "Miranda?" The aftershocks of that wave are only just starting to settle after six months. "What do you know about Miranda?"

"Were us that found out," Kaylee explains, looking melancholy. "Cap'n sent the wave himself."

Unbidden, images from the wave spring to Helena's mind, accompanied by details she read in a report sent to the head of the Warehouse, Michael Jenkins. "This ship… this is the _Serenity_."

"Welcome aboard," Captain Malcolm Reynolds, formerly sergeant of the 57th Overlanders, replies sardonically. Helena cannot reply; her mind is busy applying names and other details to the people now seated before her. The Companion next to Reynolds, that's Inara Serra, and that is former Corporal Zoe Alleyne Washburne seated on the sofa. At least Helena now understands the woman's stoic demeanor; the report stated that Zoe's husband, Hoban Washburne, was killed by Reavers during the final altercation. Helena knows all too well what it is to lose the one you love… With an effort, she turns her mind away from those dark thoughts and back to the task at hand. More details of the report come flooding back; Helena now recognizes Jayne Cobb, the mercenary, and Kaylee Frye, the mechanic. Seated next to Kaylee, arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders, is none other than Doctor Simon Tam, who, it could be argued, had caused the whole mess by rescuing his sister River… Helena's eyes move to the girl in question. Of the entire crew, she is the one who looks calm. "Now then," Reynolds continues, impatience starting to color his voice, "if'n we're done with introductions, I'd appreciate you answering my question: What kinds of things does your boss collect?"

_Well, I never was one for following the rules,_ Helena thinks, digging into her trouser pocket. "Items like this," she replies, holding up the object in question.

Jayne snorts a laugh. "What's so special 'bout a thimble?"

In reply, Helena concentrates on the captain and slips the thimble onto her index finger.


	3. Chapter 3

For the most part, Inara does not regret her decision to leave the Training House. There are times that she longs for her days of meditation and teaching, when the most she had to worry about was the occasional splinter or what she would impart to the next class of trainees she lectured. It was a marked contrast to the helplessness she felt earlier tonight as she waited on _Serenity_ for the return of Jayne, Zoe, and Mal. Then again, life at the Training House didn't offer the opportunity to meet authors who had supposedly died over six hundred years ago.

True, so far Miss Wells hasn't offered them any actual proof that her identity is valid. But there is something about the woman, an emotional weight, a look in her eyes that speaks of a great age that is at odds with her physical appearance. Too, Inara is well aware of the fact that River and Mal have worked out a system of sorts for when the young Reader catches someone in a lie. Yet Inara has seen no signal pass between the pair, leaving two possibilities: Either the woman is delusional, or she really is H. G. Wells.

As Mal and the others question the woman, Inara studies her. For someone who was ambushed and essentially kidnapped, Helena is remarkably calm. Yet with her training Inara can see beneath this veneer to the thinking that the woman is doing, likely plotting her escape. Her eyes dance over the crew, not really taking them in, and her tone of voice indicates that she is merely humoring Mal. Then Kaylee mentions Miranda, and Helena's focus changes. Now she is looking at each of the crew in turn, and Inara can see that she clearly knows who they are. In some ways, that doesn't mean too much; Inara is well aware of the rumors that have been circulating among the dregs of society for the last several months, and the fact that Mal doesn't really discourage them. Yet there is something in Helena's gaze, something about her body language that tells Inara that this woman, whoever she actually is, has probably seen actual hard reports from the Alliance.

Mal has clearly also sensed something; his tone has not changed but his body has tensed as he once more questions Miss Wells about the types of items her boss collects. When she reaches into her pants pocket, Inara can see Mal poised, ready to draw his gun at a moment's notice. Then Helena holds up a small silver item, and Inara is as confused as everyone else. "What's so special 'bout a thimble?" Jayne snorts. Under other circumstances, Inara may have made an arch comment about Jayne recognizing the object, just to get a rise out of the big mercenary. Yet now she is too busy watching Helena. Helena, who hasn't replied to Jayne's question, but instead is concentrating on Mal with enough focus to make the man squirm slightly. Helena, who Inara can see is placing the thimble on her right index finger. Helena, whose body begins to blur and move in an unnatural manner. Helena, who mere moments later is replaced where she stands by an exact duplicate of Mal.

To say that the crew is surprised doesn't do justice to the range of reactions. Mal, Jayne, and Zoe all draw their weapons, Mal letting out an explosive "_Tah mah duh hun-dan!"_ Kaylee shrieks and jumps in her seat; thankfully, Simon manages to prevent her from toppling over even as he gawks at the apparition. Inara feels her chest expand in a gasp of surprise, and suspects that her face matches the doctor's.

The other Mal smirks at the lot of them, clearly amused at their response. "Does this," he motions to his body, "answer your question?" he asks, looking at Jayne. It is Mal's voice, and Inara looks at the man at her side, her Mal, and back again. _Dear Buddha, what is going on?_

"Nice magic trick," Mal, the real Mal, says. His voice is impressively steady. "Now undo it."

Not-Mal spreads his hands, the thimble on his right finger catching the light. "As you wish." With that, he removes the thimble. There is another unnatural shimmer, and Helena stands before them once more. "As I said," she continues, "you would not have believed me if I told you."

"Perhaps not," Mal admits, re-holstering his weapon and motioning for Zoe and Jayne to do the same. "But a warning next time would be much appreciated. Let's start over: Who do you work for, and why do you want the magnets? Are they as special as that thimble?"

Helena nods her head. "The organization that I work for is one that began back on Earth-That-Was…"

* * *

There are distinct advantages to being a reader.

Sure, when the Alliance "scientists" went poking around in River's brain and stripped her ability to control her emotions, River hated her abilities. Well, she would have, except everyone else's emotions and memories overwhelmed her to the point that she couldn't tell what was hers and what belonged to the others. But onboard _Serenity,_ she has found a measure of peace, especially following Miranda. Her abilities have saved the crew of her new home on many occasions, and River feels like she belongs.

To a point, anyway. It can be very frustrating when she has to explain everything to the others, or someone else has to explain things to them. The speed of sound is only 340.29 meters per second, and that doesn't account for the time it takes for the larynx to form the words, or a person's brain to decipher the patterns of vibration that the sound waves produce on the ear drum. It is _slow_. And so, River reads.

A case in point is right now, when Helena is explaining the history of the Warehouse and the nature of artifacts to the rest of the crew. Rather than merely listen, River can see Helena's memories, including her first day at Warehouse 12, when Caturanga explained all of this to her. He seems like a fascinating man, and River wishes that she could see more of him. Alas, Helena's thoughts are focusing on other matters, like some of the artifacts that she has recovered in her long life, and River is swept along for the ride. Contrary to what Simon and the others think, she cannot dig willy-nilly through a person's memories, only watch what they are actively thinking about. (That was the danger of Miranda; one of the politicians that visited the Academy was so focused on the report that it drowned out every other thought in the room that day.) Even so, it gives River an advantage over everyone around her; she knows beyond a doubt that Helena is _the _H. G. Wells.

"Um, Miss Wells?" Helena is no longer speaking, but Kaylee's voice interrupts River's viewing of a particularly interesting memory involving the attempted retrieval of Joshua's Trumpet, pulling her back to the galley. "That's all real interesting, but how..." She pauses and takes a deep breath. "How is it that you're still alive?" She's blushing, and River sees a memory of Kaylee's mother admonishing her then-young daughter for asking an old woman's age.

Helena clearly understands the mechanic's embarrassment, and she smiles to show that she is not offended. "As you can imagine, the Warehouse has access to some rather unique resources…"

* * *

_Somewhere in Wyoming, USA, 2010_

"You have a choice, Miss Wells."

Adwin Kosan stands before her, gazing down at her, disapproval etched on his normally quiet face. In turmoil, Helena looks away, studying the unremarkable room they've confined her in. White walls, white floor, white ceiling. No furniture aside from the table in front of her, the chair under her, and the chair across from her. One door, locked from the outside. Not that she's tried to escape; her mind is engulfed in an emotional tempest that makes focusing difficult.

One hundred years. It's been almost a hundred years since the Regents decided that she posed a threat. One hundred years since they let her choose a different sort of time machine. A century, a lifetime. And human beings still have not changed. If anything, the human race is even more reckless now than it was then. Witness the continued existence of the Warehouse, a place that encourages that recklessness in its agents. _Well, I certainly fit the bill there._ Only a thoroughly reckless individual would even attempt to find, much less restore, an artifact like the Minoan Trident. Only a person with nothing to lose would try to bring about the next great extinction event. Only a madwoman would attempt to kill Myka…

With a supreme effort of will, Helena wrenches her thoughts away from that place and stamps down on the maelstrom, focusing once more on Mr. Kosan. It seems only fitting that he should be the one to be her judge, jury, and executioner; after all, he is the one who listened to her pleas and formally restored her to her status as Warehouse agent. He thought that he was doing the Warehouse a favor. He was wrong.

"A choice," he repeats. He reaches into his jacket pocket and produces a small jewelry box. Opening it, he sets it on the table before her. "Do you know what this is?"

After a brief glance at the object within, Helena nods. "The Janus coin," she replies. Caturanga told her of it, once: an artifact with the ability to separate mind from body, storing the thoughts and personality of a person for all time. In other words, yet another time machine.

Kosan nods his assent. "Then you know what it is capable of."

"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather die than be separated from my body." She has no idea where this burst of eloquence has come from.

"That could be arranged." Her eyes fly up to his face, searching for any hint that his statement is in jest. His face remains inscrutable as always. "But that is not one of your options," he continues, finally drawing out the chair across from her and sitting. "Choose: The Janus coin, or another session in the Bronzer."

"A fourth chance?" The note of incredulity in her voice cannot be disguised.

He shrugs. "Despite what you think, you may still one day prove useful to the Warehouse. And," he looks her square in the eye, "you are well aware that you may never be awakened again."

An eternity as a statue, trapped in the maze of her thoughts. She shivers involuntarily. It is, as Pete would say, a no-win situation. Then again, this is punishment for her actions; why should she win? With an air of finality, she reaches out and picks up the box. She studies the coin for a moment before snapping the case shut and pushing it back across the table.

Mr. Kosan nods his head in acknowledgment. Without a word, he stands, retrieving the box and returning it to his pocket as he heads for the door. As he leaves her sight, Helena places her elbows on the table and rests her head in her hands, determined not to dwell on her choice. Unbidden, Myka's face springs to mind, and Helena knows, without a doubt, that this will be the ghost that haunts her over the coming years. _The greatest punishment of all._


	4. Chapter 4

"So the put you into some kind of stasis using another of these artifacts?" Simon's voice pulls Helena back to the present.

"Correct," she confirms, shaking off the memories.

"Even though they thought you were a threat?"

"Who cares?" Jayne's voice breaks in before Helena can answer. She jumps a little; the big mercenary has been so quiet that she basically forgot he was there.

"Jayne!" Inara's tone is that of a parent admonishing a poorly behaved child. It is about as effective as Helena remembers when she would use it on Christina; in other words, not very.

"All I'm hearin'," the man continues, ignoring the Companion, "is a bunch o' bedtime stories-"

"What about the-" Kaylee tries to speak, but he keeps right on talking.

"—and seen a good magic trick," he finishes, pushing away from the wall where he has been leaning and walking over to stand by the table. He stops next to Helena, towering over her. "What's any of this _gos se_ got to do with us getting' _paid_?" Jayne glances down at her before glaring at the captain. "You wanted answers, Mal? You got 'em. Now I want me my coin."

Before Mal can let go with the tirade he's obviously building up, Helena speaks. "Is that all that you care about?" she asks the man. "Money?"

"And my guns. And my Ma. And gettin' se-"

"We been over this before." Miraculously, the captain's voice brings Jayne's words to a halt. "You don't like how I'm doin' things, you're free to leave."

"Not leavin' without my pay," Jayne grumbles, but he subsides.

"'Sides," the captain continues, "not all of my questions've been answered."

"But now we know why she was there!"

"Still don't explain them gorram Blue Hands."

If Helena thought the crew was shocked by her tale, that is nothing to how they react now. Kaylee lets out an audible gasp. Dr. Tam snaps his head around to look at the captain so quickly Helena can almost hear his muscles protest. Ms. Serra's hand flies up to cover her mouth, eyes wide. Jayne pales. Zoe just looks grim; clearly, the presence of these "Blue Hands" is not news to her. The most noticeable reaction, however, comes from young River.

Up until now, the girl has stood off to the side, aloof, listening, and, Helena suspects, Reading. While Helena does not know the extent of River's abilities, she is willing to bet that the girl knows more than Helena has verbally told the others. Yet at the mention of the two gentlemen who interfered at the museum, River's eyes snap to the captain even as she begins to physically withdraw from the group, murmuring something under her breath.

"River." Simon stand and pulls away from Kaylee. "River, it's okay." Carefully, he approaches his sister, hands held out in front, voice pitched as if to calm a skittish animal. "They're not here anymore. They don't know where you are." He get close enough to wrap his arms around the girl, and she allows the embrace, although to Helena's eyes she relaxes only slightly.

"Mal," Inara speaks up, "when were you going to mention the Blue Hands?"

"Thought I already did."

"No sir," Zoe informs him. "Just said Helena didn't get the magnets, and neither did we. Didn't say who got 'em."

"If it's any help," Helena says, just to cut the tension that now permeates the room, "I've dealt with those gentlemen before."

"Have you now?" Mal is appraising her again, but this time there is a little less suspicion and a little more respect in his eyes.

"Yes. And I highly doubt that they knew or cared you were here; they were after the magnets, the same as you and I."

"And how do you know that?"

"Because this isn't the first time that they've stolen artifacts out from under me."

"Excuse me?"

Helena sighs, pressing her hand to her forehead. "The reason the current head of the Warehouse de—brought me out of stasis is because for the past year these chaps have been swooping in and taking artifacts before Warehouse agents are often even aware that there is something there."

"Competition?"

"For lack of a better word," Helena agrees.

"Don't really sound like the Blue Hands I remember," Jayne grumbles just as Zoe asks, "What does this have to do with you?"

"They killed a Warehouse agent," Helena replies. "Given my… past activities, the head of the Warehouse thought that I might be of some use in tracking these men down."

"How's that goin'?" Mal asks, sarcasm dripping off of every syllable.

"How does it look?" Helena snaps, beginning to lose hold of her temper. What was supposed to be merely a long day and night has now stretched into another long day/night/morning, and there doesn't appear to be an end in sight. Meanwhile, the knowledge that she has to call Mr. Jenkins and report another double failure is not helping her mood in the slightest. He won't even be intrigued by the news that she has met the originators of the Miranda wave… An idea suddenly appears in Helena's mind. At first glance, it appears more than a little crazy, but that's never stopped her before…. "May I use your computer to place a call?" she asks Mal.

He looks nonplussed until Inara says, "You mean, 'send a wave'?"

"Yes," Helena agrees, inwardly cursing. She made the jump to twenty-first century vocabulary and slang without too much of a problem, but twenty-sixth century linguistics still trip her up, even after seven months.

"Why?" Mal wants to know.

"I may have a job for you."

* * *

_"Agent Wells, you are overdue."_

"My apologies, Michael. There were… complications." She stands on the _Serenity_'s bridge, accompanied only by Captain Reynolds. At her insistence, he stands out of range of the communication system's camera and will say nothing during this exchange. On his own initiative, he locked the door, although what good he thinks that action will do with a Reader on board is beyond her. Then again, the girl and the rest of the crew were still preoccupied and showed no indication of leaving the galley area as she and Mal trooped up here; hopefully, they remain there until she has something more concrete to offer.

The man on-screen bristles at her use of his given name. It's subtle, a detail that is at odds with the father-figure _persona_ he projects and one that she might have missed on the smaller, less detailed screen of a Farnsworth. She noticed it within her first hour of meeting him; while he pretends to be affable and approachable, the current head of the Warehouse is actually a scheming, power-hungry, secretive little rodent, a fact that only Helena of the current agents has apparently picked up on. Rather than rise to her bait, he instead pounces on the second part of her statement. _"Did you secure the magnets?"_

"Unfortunately not," she replies. "Our old friends intervened."

Grey eyes flash at her. _"Agent Wells," _his tone is that of a disappointed father, _"the Regents only agreed to my proposal to de-Bronze you because I believed that you were too smart to let this kind of thing happen. If you can't live up to your reputation, I'm afraid that they may insist on returning you to stasis." _He's trying to get a rise out of her, but she refuses to oblige, just as he ignored her earlier jab. _"Very well," _he continues after a moment, _"return to the Warehouse-"_

"If I may, Michael," she interrupts, "I think that I can still retrieve the magnets."

One black eyebrow arches at her. _"Really? And how do you intend to do that? They are likely already off-planet and headed for whatever rock they call home."_

"I managed to plant a tracer on one of them." Off to the side, she sees Reynolds startle. "I'd like to hire a ship to take me to the coordinates it sends back."

_"Using Warehouse funds, no doubt." _ There is no good reply to this; even if he refuses, Helena has other ways of paying the crew for their assistance. She intends on going after these men, regardless of what Michael Jenkins says. _"Oh very well,"_ he finally says. _"I can see that you won't be swayed, and we do need to take care of this problem. But Agent Wells," _he heightens the intensity of his gaze, _"you will keep me updated on any and all discoveries, dong ma?"_

"Of course," Helena replies as the picture winks out. Letting out a breath, she turns to face the captain.

"Did you really plant a tracer on those two?"

"Yes. Unfortunately, its range is only about a thousand kilometers."

"That's not very far."

"No," she admits. "But more than one tracer in close proximity will amplify that signal."

It takes a moment, but then comprehension dawns. "You've done this before."

A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth, pleased at the hint of amazement in his voice. "Well, Captain Reynolds, what do you say? Care for a job?"

* * *

**Author's Note: **Before anyone says anything, I will admit: I can't remember which members of the crew knew about the Blue Hands and their activities. Indulge me.


	5. Chapter 5

Later, Helena is seated at the copilot's terminal on the bridge, staring at the screen. It displays a map she has spent the better part of the day creating, one that displays the location of each moon or planet where her adversaries have taken an artifact out from under her nose. Considering that she was de-Bronzed only seven months ago, there are a surprising number; almost a dozen glowing dots are scattered around the outer edges of the system. In several instances, a line extends from a dot, marking the vector of the duo's escape as provided by the tracers. Unfortunately, she has never managed to follow them for any serious length of time, and of course they could have changed their heading at any point…. Sighing, Helena turns her gaze to the multitude of stars outside. _It is quite a view,_ she admits. A memory surfaces: A night in South Dakota, not long before she found those three young men to make the journey to Egypt….

* * *

_Univille, South Dakota, 2010_

Smiling to herself, Helena shuts down the computer in the bed and breakfast's living room. Things are starting to come together, and it won't be long now until she'll have confirmation of the location of Warehouse 2. Stretching, Helena rises from her seat. The house is silent, her fellow agents long since gone to bed. Helena should also get some rest, but she isn't feeling sleepy at all. Wandering towards the kitchen, contemplating making some tea, she glances out the French doors and is immediately sidetracked. Feeling her grin return, Helena heads outside, thoroughly enjoying the sight before her: Myka, dressed in stretch pants, sneakers, and hooded sweatshirt, stretched out on one of the lounge chairs, looking up at the sky. Or she was, anyway; her head turns toward Helena as the other woman shuts the door. "Did you finish?"

"Sorry?" Helena asks, walking towards her.

"Whatever you were working on," Myka clarifies, shifting over to make room for Helena.

"For tonight," Helena allows. "I didn't realize you were still awake," she continues, stretching out beside Myka. She wants to put her arm around the younger woman, but waits for her to make the first move. It's only been a couple of weeks since the mission to Vancouver when an artifact known as Love Potion Number 9 had allowed the pair to admit their feelings for each other. Aside from their first non-artifact induced kiss, Helena has been content to let Myka set the pace of things.

"Couldn't sleep," Myka replies, tucking herself into the older woman's side and laying her head on Helena's shoulder.

Helena wraps her arm around the younger agent's shoulders. "Is something troubling you?"

"Not really. Just don't feel tired."

Helena suspects Myka is not being entirely truthful, but she doesn't push. After all, Myka hasn't pushed about the "project" Helena is working on. A twinge of guilt hits Helena; if her plan is successful, Myka may not survive…. Resolutely, she pushes the thought away. Humanity has become a plague on this world, one that must be eradicated. But those are thoughts for another time. For the moment, Helena will simply enjoy holding Myka and staring at the stars.

* * *

"She was beautiful, wasn't she?"

Helena's question startles River, something that doesn't often happen. The woman is still gazing out of the window, just as she has been since River entered the bridge. River had come to investigate what the time-traveler was up to, and when she felt the depth of Helena's emotional broadcast River couldn't resist taking a peek at what memories produced such a strong reaction.

Helena finally looks over at River, and River realizes that Helena is waiting for an answer. "Yes."

Helena nods, turning back to the computer screen. "Is there something I can do for you, Miss Tam?"

"I wonder what you are doing."

Helena motions her over. "Come have a look."

River goes, equal parts excited and apprehensive. This woman has written some of River's favorite stories and has seen many, many things in her lifetime, things that River would have once considered fiction. Then again, who would have believed that River would one day meet _the_ H. G. Wells? And now Helena is allowing her to look at a work-in-progress, to see how the mind of another genius works. In silence, River studies the map Helena has created, aware of the older woman's regard as she does so. Unlike so many others, Helena takes River as she is, without question, and doesn't seem put off in the least by River's abilities. Part of this, River knows, is due to the fact that Helena has been privy to the Alliance's files. Yet River also knows that Helena has seen so much; what is one girl who can read minds? "It's not complete," River says now, referring to the map.

"No," Helena agrees, evidently frustrated.

"Look for the forest," River encourages, knowing the woman will understand.

Sure enough, Helena smirks. "Believe me, I am. I fear that I don't have enough data."

River doesn't bother to reply. Nerves and lack of sleep are clearly affecting Helena, so River will simply have to show her the forest. Knowing the author won't object, River reaches for the keyboard and begins typing. She can feel Helena's eyes on her. It's not too much effort to split her focus, so as she works on the program River once more looks into Helena's mind.

What she sees is flattering in the extreme: Helena is comparing her to Christina, her long-dead daughter, and wondering if Christina would have grown up to be anything like River. Seeing Helena's memories of the girl, River can see the similarities, although she doubts Christina could Read. Still, it is a nice feeling, knowing that Helena thinks River is such a special person. Withdrawing from the inventor's mind, River taps out the final command on the keyboard and stands up. Helena's focus shifts, and together the pair watches as the computer begins altering the map according to River's specifications.

It takes several moments for Helena to catch on to what River has done. "Clever girl," she murmurs.

River feels herself flush at the praise. "Knowledge of the machine's capabilities helps," River offers by way of explanation.

"Indeed it does," Helena agrees. On screen the map is still in flux as the computer, following River's direction, extends, erases, and changes the possible routes the Blue Hands could have taken after each heist. River has instructed the computer to take into account as many variables as possible, including fuel levels of the pair's ship and the presence or absence of Alliance troops near each heist and possible destination.

Within minutes, three new dots have been added to the display, glowing blue to differentiate from the locations of the thefts. Next to each dot is a percentage representing how likely it is as the final destination of the pair. Surprisingly, one number reads 75%. Helena leans forward and taps a key, enlarging that portion of the map and bringing up information on the planet in question. "Persephone," she reads.

Somehow, River is not surprised. "The 'verse works in mysterious ways."

Helena turns to look at her. "Our destination?" River nods assent. "Well then," Helena turns back to the screen, "it seems we'll get to the bottom of this mystery that much sooner."

* * *

Even as a small child, Jayne Cobb was not prone to nightmares. Some might call it lack of imagination, but Jayne has never had trouble imagining women, so that is likely not the case. Nightmares typically reflect things that scare, worry, or otherwise stress us. As far as he is aware, Jayne is scared of nothing except angering his Ma, and worry and stress are not emotions he ever set much store by. So for most of his life, Jayne has rarely dealt with nightmares.

That is, until Miranda. Or, more accurately, the events on Mr. Universe's moon.

The couple of times he's thought about it, Jayne admits that it was stupid to think he got out of that whole mess with only a wounded shoulder. It was bad enough being on Miranda and seeing the corpses of people who literally lay down and died. Crouching behind a makeshift barricade in a room with only one real exit and facing down Reavers…. Jayne avoids thinking about it when he is awake, but dreams are another matter entirely. And so, this morning he wakes up already sitting up, hand on Vera, heart racing, chest heaving as he tries to get his breathing back under control.

_"Ni ta ma de tian-xia suo-you-de ren dou gai-si," _he swears, letting go of the gun and leaning forward to rest his head in his hands. The worst part about the dreams is that the leave him feeling vulnerable. Jayne _hates_ feeling vulnerable.

Scrubbing his hands across his face, Jayne looks around his bunk, reassuring himself that all of his guns are there. A glance at the small clock by his bed tells him it's not long before he normally gets up, so there's no real point in trying to get some more sleep. Not that he'd be able to, anyway, with so much adrenaline surging through him. Scrubbing a hand across his face again, Jayne clambers off of his bunk and grabs his pants. Hopefully, a pre-breakfast workout will clear the remnants of the dreams away.

Minutes later, when Jayne enters the cargo bay, his thoughts are finally redirected, though not quite in the way he planned. He is barely inside the hatch when the sound of an impact catches his attention. The sight before him stops Jayne in his tracks: Dressed in a tight, sleeveless shirt and leggings, hair pulled back in a loose tail, Helena Wells stands over the body of River laid out on the floor.

* * *

**Author's Note: **My thanks to everyone who is reading this story, especially those who have favorited, followed, or taken the time to leave a review.


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